


Proportionate Pleasure

by FluffyBeaumont



Series: Sufficiency [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mistaken Identity, New Vulcan, Vulcan Bond, Vulcan Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyBeaumont/pseuds/FluffyBeaumont
Summary: When Spock refuses to rest while searching for a cure for the plague, McCoy forces him to sleep, but what he doesn't know is that Spock isn't entirely alone inside his head.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Series: Sufficiency [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645168
Kudos: 36





	Proportionate Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Sufficient Unto the Day"

McCoy found him in Sickbay, standing motionless beside S’toya’s bed. His face was completely empty, features bland and devoid of emotion. He held his hands clasped loosely in front of him, fingers interlaced. McCoy moved to where he was and stood behind him, waiting for Spock to acknowledge his presence.

”He had the potential to be one of the Federation’s very best scientific minds,” Spock said, after a moment. “His _katra_ will be preserved, and transferred to New Vulcan at an appropriate time.”

McCoy was familiar with the Vulcan practice of transference of the soul after death. “Where is it now?”

Spock turned to face him. “It resides within me.”

Fear flared in McCoy’s gut, burning like bile. “Is that wise?” he asked, cautiously. The destruction of Vulcan had torn a hole in Spock’s innermost self; everyone on board the Enterprise saw this, knew it. He had lost so much more than any ordinary person could ever be expected to bear, and yet he bore it, or seemed to. Only those closest to him – Jim, Uhura, McCoy – knew the depth of his suffering. Something of Spock had died the day his planet had died, and nothing anyone did could ever assuage his sorrow.

”It is what it is, doctor.” Despite his blank mien, Spock sounded faintly amused. “And this is something I am expected – nay, required – to do.”

”Goddammit, man, you aren’t up to the strain! You of all people should know, considering the stress you’ve endured these past few weeks. Are you trying to kill yourself?”

”Not particularly.”

”Spock, listen to me: take the boy’s katra to New Vulcan by all means, but for gods’ sake, don’t put yourself in danger this way!” Even as he said it, McCoy knew he had lost the argument. Spock felt responsible for this boy’s death, almost as if he’d killed S’toya himself, and he was damn well going to make sure he atoned for it. “Goddamn your Vulcan conscience! You don’t have to do this. There are other ways – “

”Do not presume to instruct me, doctor,” Spock said coldly, “especially in spiritual matters you do not understand.” McCoy almost hated him then. He wanted to grab Spock by the shoulders and shake him until his head fell off.

”You stubborn, pointy-eared, green-blooded, selfish son of a bitch,” McCoy said. It came out as a tortured whisper. He turned on his heel and left.

The presence of the plague aboard the Enterprise prompted Starfleet to impose a fourteen-day quarantine, effectively curtailing her current mission and putting Jim Kirk in a very bad mood. He and McCoy met in Jim’s quarters to sample a bottle of Orion whiskey confiscated from an illegal stash one of the ensigns had attempted to bring aboard. “No idea how this thing came aboard,” McCoy said, accepting a glass from the captain. “It just appeared out of the blue. I’ve been researching its origins but it’s never been seen before. There’s not even your usual Patient Zero.”

Kirk took a long swallow of his drink and winced, forcing it down. “Spock is wearing himself out, working on this thing.”

”I know.” McCoy drew a slow breath. “You know the boy who died was his protegee. He and Spock were…close. I think Spock was mentoring him.”

Kirk gazed at him for a long moment, studying McCoy’s expression. “He has the young man’s katra. In fact, we are en route to New Vulcan right now.” He laid his glass down and poured himself a refill. “I don’t like it, Bones. I’ve tried reasoning with him but he won’t listen. You know what he’s like.”

”He’s a damned stubborn, pointy-eared, green-blooded son of a bitch, that’s what he is.” McCoy gazed into his glass, as if it held the answer. “I’m worried about what it’s going to do to him. I’ve heard stories…read case studies. It’s hard enough for somebody in the right frame of mind, and Spock isn’t! He’s never properly recovered from the destruction of Vulcan, losing his mother.”

”You care about him,” Kirk observed quietly. “I’ve noticed how different you are around each other lately. What happened?”

”If you think I’m going to tell you, forget it,” McCoy said, grinning. He couldn’t quite look Kirk in the eye.

”He’s…quite something, isn’t he?”

McCoy’s gaze snapped to Kirk’s grinning face. “You and…you and _Spock_?”

Kirk nodded. “Yeah…couple years ago…you know what happens during _pon farr._

”Yeah, ‘course I do. I’m a doctor, or haven’t you noticed?”

”We didn’t make it back to Vulcan on time. A virus aboard ship triggered Spock’s mating drive. He had to…with someone, or else risk insanity, even death.

McCoy burst out laughing. “So you sacrificed yourself…for the good for the good of the ship? Is that it?”

A beatific smile crossed Kirk’s handsome features. “Oh, believe me. It was no sacrifice.” McCoy laughed gently at this but sobered quickly. “How long till we reach New Vulcan?”

”Two days,” Kirk replied. “Look, Bones…could you…take care of him?”

”I’ll try,” McCoy said. “If he’ll let me.”

When McCoy stopped by the lab again, Spock was still at it, but this time the doctor had come prepared. He carried a hypospray loaded with sedative, enough to lay Spock out for a good eight hours. If he’d been human, the dose might have killed him. “Still at it?” McCoy asked quietly, stepping to Spock’s side. The Vulcan was still sitting at the lab bench, alternately peering into his microscope and examining the computer terminal. “Spock, I insist you stop what you are doing and rest.”

Spock didn’t even bother to look up. “I prefer to continue working, doctor.”

”I thought you might say that.” McCoy didn’t hesitate. He laid the hypo against the side of the Vulcan’s neck and pushed the activator. The medication hissed obligingly into Spock’s skin and from there into his bloodstream. Within seconds, he slumped on the stool and would have fallen backwards if McCoy hadn’t caught him. “I remember when you helped me,” the doctor murmured, as he slung Spock’s nerveless arm around his neck. “Well, it’s my turn now.” He half-carried, half-dragged the Vulcan into the nearest turbolift. Spock struggled feebly against McCoy’s enclosing arms but the sedating effect of the drug was too much even for his superior strength. McCoy frog-marched him into his quarters and engaged the door lock behind them. “Now,” McCoy said, lowering Spock to the bed, “you are going to rest supposing I have to hold you down and sit on you, is that clear?”

Spock’s head rolled on the pillow, and his face twisted in frustration. “Doctor, it is _vital_ that I continue my research. S’toya’s death—”

”Is a regrettable tragedy,” McCoy said. “Goddammit, this illness is nobody’s fault. We don’t know where it came from or why. It chooses its victims at random. If anybody is to blame for these deaths, it’s me. Not you.” He sat on the side of the bed and drew a few slow, deep breaths. “Killing yourself isn’t going to bring that boy back. I know how much this hurts. I’d been through this so many times, I can’t tell you. It never gets any easier.” Anguish warred with drug-induced fatigue on Spock’s elegant features, and there were tears standing in his eyes. It must have cost him plenty to show so much emotion. “Baby, I’m sorry…”

”Will you—” Spock drew a ragged breath, fighting to compose himself. “Will you help me, doctor?”

”Dammit, you know I will.” He reached out a hand and laid it on Spock’s shoulder. “What do you need?”

”I want you—to—leave me— _alone_!” It was all Spock could manage before unconsciousness took hold of him and dragged him under.

”Like hell I will,” McCoy muttered. He pulled Spock’s boots off, unfastened his trousers and pulled them down his lean, muscled legs, dropped them on the floor. Spock’s natural tendency to neatness would no doubt rebel, and when he woke, he would probably be more than a little put out that McCoy saw fit to scatter his clothes around, but the doctor didn’t really give a shit. He drew Spock’s languid form towards him, resting the Vulcan’s torso against his chest while he tugged off his shirt. Once Spock was tucked into bed, McCoy undressed himself quickly, adding his clothes to the pile on the floor. He made a quick call to sickbay, advising Chapel he wouldn’t be in until at least the beginning of the next shift, and she would just have to make do. He ordered the computer to lower the lights, then slid into bed beside Spock, who was lying on his side facing away. “I’m here,” he said. “And I’m gonna stay here until you get some rest.” He wrapped his arm around Spock’s waist and laid his cheek against the Vulcan’s naked back. “What am I gonna do with you?” he whispered. “You think you gotta take everything onto your shoulders and bear the burden all alone.” Spock shifted in his sleep and murmured something, perhaps a half-formed fragment of a dream. “Oh, I know you’re gonna argue with me. It’s what you do best.” He breathed in the scent of Spock’s body, a fragrance redolent of rare Vulcan spices and burning desert sands. His skin was smooth as the finest silk, dappled with ink-dark hair and his pink nipples were, McCoy knew, exquisitely sensitive to touch. McCoy allowed his fingers to drift through Spock’s chest hair, tagging a nipple with his thumb. Spock groaned in his sleep, angling his pelvis forward, seeking the clasp of McCoy’s hand, wanting more sensation. “You’re supposed to be resting,” McCoy said, and sighed, “and I know damn well I ain’t helpin’ matters.”

”Your drugs only relax me, doctor.” Spock rolled onto his back and gazed up at McCoy. “My faculties are intact, I assure you.” He drew a long-fingered hand through McCoy’s dark hair. “My sorrow for S’toya is still present, albeit relegated to the back of my consciousness. I will grieve for him. I carry his _katra_ , which I am obliged to deliver to New Vulcan.” He stroked McCoy’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the doctor’s lower lip. “But not yet.” He leaned in and captured McCoy’s mouth, and one hand went to the nape of his neck, pulling McCoy close and deepening the kiss as the tip of his tongue slid between McCoy’s parted lips. “I have always wanted this,” he sighed. “You have no idea how long I’ve watched you, doctor…how long I’ve wanted you…you are a most…compelling man.”

It was an odd sort of speech to make, and McCoy didn’t know what to make of it. But Spock’s hands were on his body, smooth palms sliding on his inner thighs, parting them. McCoy fumbled I the drawer of the bedside table for the lubricant he knew was there, and he brought it out. He handed it to Spock, trembled in anticipation while the Vulcan spread the warming oil on his hands. “Tell me this is what you want,” Spock said. “I must secure your consent before I continue. Do you want this? Truly want it?”

”Oh _God_ , yes!” McCoy said, and gasped when Spock’s long fingers penetrated him, expertly locating the sensitive bundle of nerves inside his body. “Oh my God, Spock, I want this. Please…”

Spock positioned his cock at McCoy’s entrance and pressed himself inside, pushing slowly and steadily against the tough ring of muscle, until he was fully seated inside the doctor’s body and they were joined completely.

”I love you—” McCoy gasped, and then he could say nothing else, his whole being flayed wide open, blinded and rendered wholly mute by a pleasure that was almost violent, as Spock rode him to completion.

…to be continued…


End file.
